Essay on that eye the sky essay

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Essay on that eye the sky essay

As the flowers emerged with the spring thaw, speckling the greening landscape with yellow and purple, something deep within me longed for a kite.

Even now, with childhood sewn neatly into the tapestry of my past, the spring winds evoke that same longing. Few things are as liberating as watching colorful kites dance gracefully in a brilliant Carolina blue sky. A sky chilled yet a little while longer by the icy grasp of the villainous winter wind still locked in a battle to the death against the strengthening sun.

But Winter never wins for long in the South. Spring is young and strong, warm and powerful, virile and colorful. She is hope eternal, a never-ending expanse of cloudless joy whose purpose, at least for now, is reverently dedicated to paying homage to the kite.

Kites are freedom under control, grace under pressure, and idealism tethered to reason. Kites represent all that I cherished of childhood, now lost but for the string of discipline wound by those experiences of long ago whose constant pressure taught me the value of freedom under control.

Once part of an expansive farm, her house lay just inside the city limits of Shelby, and it was surrounded by a few fallow fields bordered by trees.

THE PREFACE.

Except for those remaining fields, the old farm had almost been swallowed by progress, so this spot of undeveloped land was a rare find and unique to city dwellers in its expansiveness. The joy of kite-flying was invariably delayed, however, by the necessity of unfettering miles of string that had become tangled by neglect, tangled by impatience, or tangled by the very winds that we so desperately needed and had for so long eagerly anticipated.

Essay on that eye the sky essay

The winds were tricky. Like so many other powerful forces we would later know in life, they possessed the power both to bless and destroy. As soon as they were exposed to the winds of Spring, the kites were awakened to their need for liberation. We, in the springs or our own lives, understood. Our kites were extensions of us, and they, like us, wanted to fly, and fly now.

They waited impatiently on the ground, animated by the tempting breezes, having to be restrained by hands, knees, rocks, sticks, or whatever might serve to squelch their incessant squirming. They needed to know that their freedom and impulses would destroy them if not controlled. But, they rebelled until at last it would be time for the much anticipated and long awaited launch.

Once airborne, it was a challenge, a competition even, to see whose kite could climb the highest and stay aloft the longest. For those less fortunate, the challenge was simply to get off the ground.

Embarrassing though it may have been, some of us ultimately had to admit defeat. Our miscalculations had cost us our day, our joy, even our pride. We would have to try again tomorrow.

Saddened, we failed to realize that, although we thought we needed to fly, we needed to crash even more. We paid with our pride, but our loss forced us to acquire the nobility required to accept defeat graciously. For others though, the launch, usually a massive one in a sudden gust of wind, brought immediate joy.

They learned their lessons in flight. Apply pressure to soar higher; slacken the line to float aimlessly or sink. Only through constant pressure could we soar; without it we only maintained altitude, or even worse, sank.

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But soar they did! My, how they flew! Oh to be with them, up in the pristine sky. But in our idealism, we already were. Feet firmly planted on the orange Cleveland County clay, our hearts had already taken flight.Prior to Henry Warburton entering the life of Ort and educating him about God and religion, Ort sees the sky as an eye which looks over the world and sees everything.

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